


The Damocles Predicament

by CoolSecretTwin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ashes Scene in Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, IronStrange, M/M, Supreme Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16650883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoolSecretTwin/pseuds/CoolSecretTwin
Summary: They have walked similar paths with similar burdens buried next their hearts or hanging from their necks. The weights grow heavier the longer they fight in the Infinity War. Maybe a doctor and an inventor are not so different as they think.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am reposting works from ff.net to here. The tags don't really come into play until the next chapters. Hope you all like it!

* * *

Aside from the plasma canon in his suit, his wit is certainly his greatest weapon; Stephen has to give him that. Stark's got him beat to hell with pop culture and music references, with his AI wired to a pair of aviators like he's the next Fleetwood Mac. He is the engineer of the greatest technology of the twenty-first century, and he does not belong in this conflict. This sort of thing is what Stephen deal with on a trip-weekly basis with the fate of the universe and billions of lives at stake. A celebrity hero has no place among cosmic battles.

Yet here he is, having chased after the space ship to retrieve a man who called him a douche earlier. Stephen admits he isn't all bad.

It doesn't make them even though. He's still a douche, but a useful one, with a point about bringing them to home territory, something that Stephen is not used to. He is not a businessman used to hounding rivalries with money. As much as he is loath to admit it, he is the bookworm here. He has the knowledge and the ability to search for weaknesses.

Together, they might have a fraction of a chance to succeed.

Unfortunately, Stark's weakness snuck aboard the ship. the kid, he's not even sure how old he is, looks about twelve. Stark assured him that he is old enough to drive. Not entirely comforting. Stephen wants to send him back to Earth, but, as Stark so tenderly pointed out, they 're two meat sticks with a  magic carpet and a tin can against the ultimate enemy with a glowing rock collection. They need all the help they can get, even if it is from just a mutant acrobat. And as Stark dubbed him, he is an Avenger. If Stark trusts him, then Stephen reluctantly must as well.

Stark tinkers with parts of the ship, learning how it works. He is the engineer here, the only one with the capability to land them on Titan. The kid hovers nearby, offering interjections that Stark seems to find helpful.

Together they figure out how to steer. Stephen watches from what he would call the windshield, whee light years of space pass by in a matter of seconds.

Stark cares about this kid, about Banner, about his fiance. So many people in his life, and he knows this was a one way ticket.

No doubt he judged the man too early in the game. Perhaps they both judged each other for a lifestyle alien to their own. Stark has an unfortunate amount more to lose than Stephen ever will.

"Mister Doctor?"

Stephen starts. He glares at the kid. This kid. He closes his mouth, having seemed to realize his mistake.

"I mean, uh, Mister Strange -"

"It's _Doctor_ Strange." He looks him up and down with a curl to his lip. "Spider Boy."

Stark slams something on the monitor. "Spider _Man_ , douchebag."

The Spider Man blushes and twists his fingers together. "So, it's not just your name. You're actually a doctor?"

Stephen ignores him. The kid is just talking for the sake of talking. He must get it from Stark.  

"Well it could make you sound more intimidating I guess. Doctors can be scary." He shivers. "Is Strange, like, your actual name?"

" _Yes_ ," Stephen grates out though his teeth. He has never liked kids. Never wanted one of his own. Christine loved children, even at the hospital, where they would whine and scream constantly. Even outside the hospital, where they were supposedly better behaved, Stephen could never get the hang of talking to them. Any attempt at connection spiraled into awkward conversation.

"Stop asking. You don't see me asking if you're old enough to be a Spider _Man_ , do you?"

"Okay, sorry Doc, my bad." He holds out his phone. "Get a shot of this will you?"

Webbing shoots out and he hangs in front of the windshield and holds up a peace sign. Stephen looks at the phone for a moment, then glances over his shoulder at Stark. He shrugs and nods for him to get on with it.

Stephen scoffs. "We're not on a field trip."

"Well technically I was kinda on a field trip, so I'd say this counts," the kid pipes out. "I gotta have proof when Ned asks if I was in the space ship."

He has to be related to Stark somehow.

Stephen holds the phone sideways. He just barely manages to keep his hands still enough. He swears under his breath and fumbles with the device. Webbing snags a hold of it and jerks it out of the air before it hits the ground.

"Thanks man - Doctor, I mean!"

Stark is looking at him now, staring at his hands. Stephen glares at him and turns away, folding his hands in front of him.

"Guess it's a good thing you're not driving, eh?" Stark says.

The cloak reassuringly squeezes his shoulders. Stephen pets it, nodding. "You have no idea."

"That why you became a wizard?" He grunts and Stephen hears metal groaning.

"Yes," Stephen says stiffly, wanting very much to drop the subject.

"Any benefits? Time off in the Bahamas, trip to Hogwarts?"

"We're actually encouraged to detach ourselves from worldly desires so we can better protect the world."

Stark is quiet for a moment, letting the sounds of working fill the silence. "Sounds a bit extreme," he says eventually. "I mean, have you even had a New York cheeseburger? Something I'd sell my soul for."

"Vegetarian, unfortunately."

Stark gives a lopsided smile. He points a finger gun at Stephen. "Guess we know who's gonna live longest here, then."

A crash echoes through the chamber followed by a high pitched yelp. _'Man' my ass_ , Stephen snorts.

Stark drops a metal tool and takes two hasty steps. "Kid!"

"I'm good!" he pipes out. "All good here."

Stark rubs his forehead and sits down with his back against the console. "I might be having an aneurysm here, Doc."

He's exaggerating, but the longer he keeps rubbing his temples indicates that it's probably been bothering him since the Maw pounded him into the ground that first time.

"I guarantee it's just a headache," Stephen reassures in a voice very similar to the one he used with difficult patients, the ones who were certain their heads were about to fall off from a migraine. He hopes Stark isn't whiney.

He crouches beside him and lifts his first two fingers. Stark holds up a cautious hand. Stephen raises an eyebrow and lets his fingers hover. This close, Stephen sees that Stark is shorter than the suit makes him appear. After half a second hesitation, Stark relents and lets Stephen's fingers hover over his forehead.

"You're not gonna turn me into a pumpkin are you?" he mutters.

Stephen cracks a smile and gently draws the pain out. Stark closes his eyes and sighs, relieved. He shakes his head once and rubs his temple.

"That'll be ten thousand dollars," Stephen says, straightening up.

Stark pats his person. "Ah, see I forgot my wallet. Pepper's got my insurance card."

When he turns his attention back to the console to continue tinkering, Stephen realizes who Stark is. No hidden green monster under that aging face, no mutation that makes him stronger than he looks. He is a middle aged man who needs a trip to the doctor when his head aches. Even Stephen, though mortal, uses magic to get rid of aches and pains. Stark probably knocks back two Tylenol with a bourbon.

The spider kid drops down, startling the cloak more than Stephen. It wraps tighter and tries to jerk him back from a perceived threat no taller than his shoulder.

"Mr. Stark!" he says in that out of breath way. "How long do you think it'll take to get there?"

Stark doesn't look up from his work. "You seriously asking me if we're there yet?"

The mask peels itself back from the kid's face. "No! Not-not that. It's just, like, with my other suit I could hold it before I got back home, but with this one - "

"Are you serious right now?" Stark stares at him.

"Just when it comes up!"

"You are not _peeing_ in my multi-million dollar suit on the first day," Stark growls out. "Or you can kiss that new car smell goodbye."

Stephen leaves them to bicker. The cloak flies him up to the scaffolding. He's growing attached. It isn't necessarily wrong. He and Wong are close friends, but they have an understanding that each mission could be their last. The fate of the universe, while Stark was eager to understand and to help, is something that he will never bear the burden of. 

No doubt Stark will look after himself and the boy. Stephen cannot afford to be constantly looking over his shoulder to protect them during battle. Of course, he will protect them as much as he can, but when the time comes, he must choose, he must choose the trillions of lives over his companions.

Even with powers, Wong warned him early on the dangers of touching an Infinity Stone. The fact that Thanos is able to wield two of them already indicates a godly amount of power within him. Even "gods" such as Thor are not able to wield them. The mirror dimension, his go-to place for hiding anything he doesn't want Wong to confiscate, will be his last alternative for protecting the stone.

A loud clang followed by a colorful swear makes him crane his had over the side of the scaffolding. Tony is holding his foot and leaning against the console. Peter covers his mouth and whips his head up at Stephen, like a toddler realizing their parent has just said something they weren't supposed to hear.

Stephen hopes it will all be enough, that they will be enough. 

* * *

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene between their planning and when Thanos arrives. I enjoy writing from Stephen's point of view. Especially when he knows what is going to happen.

* * *

 

"How many do we win?"

Stephen looks at Tony, really looks at him. The carefully hidden ticks that show how he's forcing himself to stay calm. Stephen saw the same expression back at the Sanctum, and again on the ship. But Stephen knows he will keep his cool. It would take his entire world ending for him to crumble.

That's why it must be him. Fourteen million times over, Stephen saw it, again and again, the heartbreak and loss. The Iron Man will suffer in his living, while half his universe lies peaceful in erasure. Not death. Death would be cruel. No. They will all fade, including Stephen Strange.

Like iron under fire, Tony will crumble. His whole world as he knew it will fade, and the iron man will buckle under the weight of his burden, but he will not break.

"One."

Pain flickers behind Stark's eyes. "One," he parrots.

Stephen gives a small nod. These next few hours will be immeasurable in importance for him to set all the pieces in place for a future in which he will not exist. Quill grunts and kicks a rock off a piece of rubble.

"Well dick brains, we better make this count."

-x-

He cannot stand the space cadets. Technically Quill is from Earth, but he might as well be included with the two aliens who came with him. He understood Footloose, but anything after the eighties is unknown. Stark has already mentioned _Mr. Clean_ and _Men in Black_ in two unrelated conversations. Peter made the mistake of taking his phone out and Quill about lost his goddamn mind, despite the fact that he carries a high tech space helmet and drives a space ship.

Maybe because Stephen has seen the ignorant pawn that will cause the outcome of the battle on this planet, maybe because they are a divided group of morons. Whatever the reason, he distances himself as much as possible.

They'd overlaid the plans, Quill offering insulting advice that they were forced to listen to because his group was the only one present who had actually fought Thanos. Stephen told them what he had seen, of their enemy's arrival and which stones he would use. After that... they couldn't know. What would be the point? He had seen the future where they did know. Nothing good could come from revealing the truth.

The only way Tony Stark would make it out alive, was if they did not know.

Off to his side, the female alien, Mantis, loses her footing on a patch of uneven ground and stumbles from the sudden drop. She and Peter have been taking advantage of the low gravity to see which one could jump highest. Stephen quickly intervenes and grabs her upper arm, where her sleeves do not touch, before she can twist an ankle on the fall. The last thing they need before the fight is an injured, valuable asset.

She steadies herself by laying a hand over his and her whole body suddenly stiffens. The ends of her antennas glow white and she stares at him with unnervingly wide eyes. She already explained to him and Stark that she is an empath, and by touch, she could put someone the size of a planet to sleep. She may have been exaggerating a touch, but they will be counting on her most of all in their fight against Thanos.

Stephen quickly releases her, heart thumping too loudly. He worries how much she could have felt from him. The last thing he wants right now is someone worming around his head. He already had one too many needles there.

Her dark eyes shift over Stephen's shoulder, then thoughtfully meet his gaze once more. She sits and looks down at her hands, now folded over each other, then back at him.

"It is okay to be afraid," she says. She runs her fingers through a lock of her hair. "My friends... they do not show it... but we are all afraid. If it were not okay, why would we feel it?"

He bristles at her audacity. Of course he is afraid. He is terrified. But what good would that do, when he is the only one here who actually knows what's at stake? But when he opens his mouth to snap something about keeping her empathy to herself, he sees the raw compassion etched deep in her eyes, like their paths have finally crossed on a wavelength. Somehow, this alien could understand him more than anyone on this planet.

"Are you afraid a lot?" he says.

She gives a big nod. "Many times. But Rocket makes me smile, even when he is afraid. He is such a good panda. I hope you get to meet him. He will hate you." She laughs, a big bubbly laugh and her eyes crinkle and it is so infectious that it cannot help but crack Stephen's icy exterior and he smiles back.

"It's okay. Lots of people don't like me," he admits.

Her smile drops instantly and she stares at him with such intensity it feels as though she is looking into him. "I like you very much, Stephen Strange. You are a good man."

Stephen squirms from her hand and moves to back away. He doesn't need this. Not right now.

He envies her innocence. All of them. Every instinct since the moment he woke up in that spaceship has been screaming at him to get away. Take the time stone far away, find a way to destroy it, like Stark said.

But he remembers how that future turned out.

His hands shake from the mounting frustration at his helplessness. That, though dead, he will cause a truly good man the worst pain he will ever know. What good man coldly says he would let a child die for the sake of a stone?

Her fingers brush his wrist and he feels relief, ice over a raw, aching wound. Not magic. It's calming him, and at the same time frightening him. Like a drug. Filling him with euphoria that he knows he shouldn't have. The memory of him and Donna near the stream. Before. The summer house. The deep calm at lying in the leaves staring up at the sunlight through the trees. He thought he had forgotten about that. The wave of peace so much that he has to sit down before he falls. The cloak takes some of his weight.

Mantis' lower lip wobbles. "You hurt. It hurts you so much." A tear rolls down her cheek.

Throat suddenly too tight, he nods.

She sits with him, silent, as he calms down. She reaches for his hand again and he jerks it out of her grasp.

"You can't do that again," he mutters, staring at his boots.

He feels her rests her hand over his. She curls her fingers around his knuckles.

"You blame yourself," she whispers, "when you feel weak."

An incredible wrenching groan makes them jump. Tony is using a laser to separate a beam of broken metal from the crashed spaceship.

"Pete! Grab that other end."

Peter jumps in to help, his helmet shifting to cover his head.

Stephen watches them work together, their suits almost in tune with each other about where to move and jerking them apart when debris collapses around them. The arc reactor's glow leaves an impression behind Stephen's eyelids when he blinks. A purple splotch amidst the orange haze.

Mantis' hand tightens around his.

Stephen remembers reading about the surgery in a medical journal that Christine sent him long after he had retired from the medical field. The torso X-rays of before and after. How severe the alterations were to his body in order to accommodate the arc reactor. Lung capacity reduced and his heart, with the miraculously embedded shards, crammed next to it.

Though, Stephen has a feeling that once, just like him, the Merchant of Death had not been a believer of miracles. Even with the multiple surgeries, nothing short of a miracle would have healed the nerve damage to his own hands.

A second surgery had been needed to meld artificial muscle, a sternum, and ribs to fill the gaping hole left by the reactor. The trauma, the surgeries, the invasiveness of it all, to plant a machine inside himself to protect his heart.

Stephen looks back at Mantis when she takes her hand away.

"The metal man must be very important to you," she says quietly.

He stands and dusts the orange dust off the cloak. "You have no idea."

Stephen had met... _beings_ , for lack of a better word, who did not understand the concept of human values, which made negotiations difficult in the long run. Beings who existed to survive, consume, and expand, lacked the empathy to consider others. But aliens who contained an abundance of empathy were even worse.

She stands and hops after him. "He would want to know what you are feeling."

Dr. Strange whirls around, the cloak swirling around him anxiously. "No," he says icily.

He stomps away from her. He didn't fly across the galaxy to talk about his feelings. What good would that distraction do anyway? Attachment to the material is detachment from the spiritual, Wong's irritating wise-man voice ping-pongs through his head. The earthly desires of the Sorcerer Supreme have no place in a cosmic battle, and he is not about to doom them all because of misplaced sentiment. Such luxuries are not meant for him.

 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I desperately wanted to write this iconic scene from Tony's pov. It broke my heart.

* * *

 

The scream can't have come from him. Too high, like a woman's, or a child's. Maybe it wasn't there at all, just another nightmare in his head. 

It's so fast that he doesn't understand what happened until he looks down. It felt like a gut punch from Happy, knocking the breath from him, but he's still standing. Thanos' enormous hand keeps him upright. He gulps down a breath and he stares at the blade sticking out of his abdomen. The pain still doesn't register. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knows this is somehow wrong. He knows it should be there. He can't tell if the mangled red surrounding the blade is his blood or his torn suit. Maybe it didn't happen.

He hooks an arm around Thanos' wrist and he manages to just curl his fingers around the hilt of the blade, before he freezes. The image of 1963 Château Latour uncorking pops in his head, the Hoover dam crumbling. Tony heaves in a breath, a reminder that he still can, and lets his hand drop. He's not dead yet. The blade, while tearing open his stomach, is also keeping him alive.

He cranes his head up. Thanos wobbles in his vision. He focuses on the cut under his right eye. _I did that_ , Tony thinks blearily. The last thing he'll ever do.

"You have my respect Stark," Thanos' voice rumbles deep in his ear. "When I'm done, half of humanity will still be alive."

He steps away, and Tony's legs give out. He swallows down a scream. He can feel the blade now, like a foreign limb deep in his stomach. His eyes burn for a moment before a voice hauntingly like his father's seeps like cold in his head. 

_Like iron, Tony. Starks don't cry._

He knows pain. This isn't pain.

Thanos raises the gauntlet. The purple stone shimmers. "I hope they remember you."

Tony sags on one arm. He doesn't have the strength to stay right anymore.

"Stop!" a far away voice wavers.

Tony's vision swims. The orange horizon bleeds into his retinas. A brief, I'm going to die here, flashes in front of him, like a bullet train passing an old rusted sign.

Strange, bleeding from a cut in his hairline, sits up and slumps against the wreckage behind him. He huffs and blinks slowly.

"Spare his life," he says slowly, "and I will give you the stone."

That wakes him up a little. No. Tony shakes his head. He coughs - _Is that blood?_ \- and groans.

Thanos' fist does not waver. "No tricks, wizard," he says.

Strange shakes his head once.

"No," Tony grunts. "No." This is not how this ends. They do not surrender. They don't give up. He struggles to get his feet under him. This isn't how it ends.

Pepper, Rhodey, Peter.

He's going to kill this fucking wizard.

But he's useless, like always. He can't even stand. Strange conjures the stone with his shaking hands, and it's like the final nail in the coffin. They had a chance. They had a fucking chance.

He can't make himself look, knowing the truth will force the blade deeper. He hears Thanos' satisfied glory. "One to go," he says.

The titan vanishes through a portal, and they are left in silence, only the wind whistling over them on this damned planet.

The Missouri man's jaw drops. "Did we just lose?"

Tony keeps his hand around the blade to hold it steady. He half turns.

Strange is looking at Tony like he just kicked him.

He wants to be angry, wants to beat the living shit out of him. He wants a passage straight back to Earth so he can get Pepper to safety. He wants to track Thanos down and stab him double in the gut.

But it all seems so futile, so big a task for a drowning man who can barely keep his head up.

Instead, he whispers, "Why would you do that?"

Strange's eyes flick down, heaving a slow breath. "We're in the end game now." And in the way he says it, Tony knows this is what he saw. Maybe there never was a "one way" that they could win. Maybe they were all destined to be the ones who failed half the universe.

It's daunting, to know that he played a part in its destruction. He always knew he would be the one to destroy himself, but never the ones whose paths he never crossed.

"Mr. Stark?"

Peter lands next to him. His mask peels back and he looks like he might cry. Why? He didn't do any of this.

The kid stares down at the blade sticking from his abdomen. His hands clench and unclench, and he shuffles on his feet, wanting to help. Always the helper, always needing the validation that he is doing good.

Tony can give that to him. He holds out his hand.

"Help me out here, Pete. Can you do that?"

He nods shakily. "Mr. Strange?" he calls.

Tony hears the doctor grunt and the crunch of gravel under his feet.

A hand settles gently on his shoulder. He glances back at the dark blue tunic. He can't look the traitor in the eye, not right now. The betrayal is still raw. Tony grits his teeth.

"You need to peel back the suit so I can see," Strange murmurs low and calm in his ear, not even the waver it was just moments ago.

Tony raises a shaking hand and taps the reactor twice. The suit separates with a shink, and the sound of sprinkling metal as the nanytes peel themselves away.

Tony feels fabric flutter around him and he looks down and sees the red cape tucking around him like a stretcher.

"Just let it support you," Strange reassures. "Relax your torso."

Tony allows it. Without the tension, the pain floods into his gut, like a pulsing burn. He shuts his eyes. Strange's hand hovers over his abdomen, probing like the magnet detectors at security checkpoints.

"We'll need to break it off where it meets the skin," Strange sighs. "It's punctured your stomach. That's why you're coughing blood. If we can stabilize the puncture, it'll keep acting like a cork for you until you get back to Earth." He looks up. "Peter? I'll hold him still, and you need to break it."

Tony opens his eyes. The kid looks pale, almost green. "I don't know, sir, I'm not very good with-"

Strange grips his wrist. Even with his mangled hands, he suddenly seems the stronger of the two, and Tony knows the kid can throw a bus about half a block.

"I need your help, Peter," he says, his voice strained. He glances at Tony, and takes a breath, calming himself. "He needs your help. Now help us, because I can't do it alone."

Peter's mouth snaps closed and he nods.

Tony snorts. "That how you get the girls, Doc?" he mumbles.

Strange ignores him. "Stay as still as you can, Tony."

Peter grips the end of the blade with one hand and the other just above where it sticks out of him.

"Givin' me the warm fuzzies - " Tony breaks off with a gasp. His breath hitches and he slams his eyes shut. Strange's hands, and some force the doctor is using, holds him still while the metal crumples sideways and snaps away.

Strange gives the faintest, most genuine smile Tony has seen on the man, and squeezes Peter's shoulder. "Thank you," he says. He looks down at Tony's stomach.

"The trick you did on the space ship," he prompts. "With the breech in the hull. Can you do that again?"

The cloak sits him up and he lifts a shaking arm where the suit has fused into a glove. He uses the fire suppression system and the rest of the nanytes to freeze the broken blade in place.

"That will hold you until you get back to Earth," Strange says. He closes his eyes and sags into a piece of rubble. He holds his head. "It has to."

Tony swallows down the bile that washes up his throat when he stands. He catches the double meaning in the man's words. "Yeah, what about you hm?" he snaps. "Where you off to?"

Strange doesn't answer. He strokes the end of his cloak, eyes elsewhere.

"Something is happening."

Tony turns. The alien with the antennas - Mantis, he thinks - is staring far away.

It starts with her hand, pieces of her drifting away, climbing up her body like it's unravelling. Then she's gone.

They all go quietly, each with a more mounting sense of dread, something whispering to them that they are about to be taken.

The sunset is like fire in his eyes.

"Tony."

He doesn't understand. He turns. Stephen Strange is sitting against the rubble. He looks tired, more haggard than anywhere else in their battle.

He stares earnestly at Tony. His eyes are so blue in the endless orange.

"There was no other way." His gaze drifts down and he breathes heavily once, twice, and he is gone.

This can't be right. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony's insides go cold, a second sense telling him before he knows.

Peter is frowning, disturbed. His arms wrap around his middle. "I don't feel so good."

Tony's stomach drops. He shakes his head. "You're all right." It won't happen. Can't.

Peter blinks rapidly, stumbling forward. "I don't-I don't know what's happening."

"You're okay."

Tony rushes forward with a jack rabbiting of stabbing pain, just as Peter collapses into him. Tony holds him, as if he can hold on tight enough to keep him there. He's never been the strongest - that's Steve and Banner and the fucking god of thunder. He's never been strong enough, but this time is different. It has to be.

He feels Peter's arms around him, fingers gripping his jacket. The boy buries his face in his shirt.

"I don't wanna go," he whispers. "Please, Sir. Please!"

He trembles against him.

Bigger men have begged Tony before, swallowed their pride and begged for their jobs back, cried and begged for forgiveness, for mercy. He's always been prideful, knowing he holds the power to give them what they want. _Strategy Tony, you don't get something for nothing._ He's always had power, money, fame. The son of the great Howard Stark. Any man would be down on his knees for that sort of recognition.

Except Peter. Peter only ever begged him for one thing, because he thought the suit was what made him special.

All Tony had done after his parents died was drink himself into a selfish stupor for thirty years. A tribute to his extended mourning. 

Peter didn't even get a month to grieve before the Spider Man started helping people. Tony knew how much the kid looked up to him. Tony didn't deserve that honor.

This kid deserved more than that flimsy suit. 

_My father made that shield._

Tony presses his cheek into Peter's hair. He couldn't make himself speak if the world split open beneath them. He holds on, but the boy's weight is too much for him. He drops to his knees, careful to avoid Peter's legs, and he makes the mistake of looking down.

Peter's legs are gone.

It's happening.

No it's not. He can still stop this. It can't happen.

It's happening.

He's drowning. He forces himself to look at Peter. He won't look away. No matter how long it lasts.

Peter's breath shudders out. He sees Tony. His eyes glimmer with tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"No." Tony's breath punches out of him. He tightens his grip, and Peter... Peter slips through. Tony holds his hand out, as if he can chase him down, mold him back together, because that's what he does. He fixes the messes of this world his father built.

He stares at his hand.

_It's kinda your fault I'm here._

This is his mess, the poison started by his father dripping down into someone who didn't deserve any of this.

Tony bows his head and presses his hand to his mouth. The world is crumbling around him.

Peter is gone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I needed like three glasses of wine to write this. This just tore me apart.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked it so far. Please comment if you did!


End file.
